#AmericanWriters
I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading, she said “yes”, “yes?” I asked. "she`s young and pretty",
I reached up into the top of the c… and took out a pair of blue pantie… and showed them to her and asked “are these yours?”
he drank wine all night of the 28th, and he kept thinking of her: the way she walked and talked and… the way she told him things that s… but were not, and he knew the colo…
“you know,” she said, “you were at the bar so you didn’t see but I danced with this guy. we danced and we danced close.
“Chinaski, you got a following in Denver...” “yeah?” “yeah, I got a magazine and I wan… poems from you...”
the hearse comes through the room… the beheaded, the disappeared, the… mad. the flies are a glue of sticky pas… their wings will not
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine— just a lightbulb
he was 65, his wife was 66, had Alzheimer’s disease. he had cancer of the mouth. there were
I am in this low—slung sports car painted a deep, rich yellow driving under an Italian sun. I have a British accent. I’m wearing dark shades
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
I can’t have it and you can’t have it and we won’t get it so don’t bet on it
I got in the shower and burned my balls last Wednesday. met this painter called Spain, no, he was a cartoonist,
we like to shower afterwards (I like the water hotter than she) and her face is always soft and pe… and she’ll wash me first spread the soap over my balls
sway with me, everything sad— madmen in stone houses without doors, lepers steaming love and song frogs trying to figure